No Phoenix for Roslin
by Emma Ockham
Summary: Adama had known Roslin would die; he'd known that when he first took her in his arms. But at that point he hadn't really anticipated that their attachment would grow beyond the friendly release that came with frakking a trusted body. Warning: character death.
1. Chapter 1 - A new body?

Set in season 2, after 'Flight of the Phoenix' and before 'Resurrection ship', so, after Adama was shot by Boomer, and after Adama and Roslin came back from Kobol, but before the sudden cure with Hera's is still Commander, and Cottle is still called Jack.

With heartfelt thanks to Kimbari, Witchcatz and Afrakaday for betaing this. Without them it would never have gotten this shape. All errors of course are mine.

CHAPTER 1

[time: current]

She hadn't felt her toes since noon, and now bitter cold crept up her calves too. Laura Roslin shivered under the heavy layers of blankets Billy had managed to get for her. The throbbing of her breast almost distracted her from the unrelenting icy numbness taking over her body. When pain shot under her scalp, she closed her eyes, trying to stifle the grunt. There was no denying it any more: the cancer had reached her brain.

"Madame President?"

Disregarding her explicit wishes, Billy perched on the chair next to her makeshift bed, fidgeting and eyeing her apprehensively. Closing her eyes hadn't been taken as a good sign.

 _You're not making this any easier for me, Billy._

Then again, if he hadn't checked in on her, she'd still be sprawled out in front of her closet. The room had spun out of control when she dressed herself. She should remember hitting the deck, but she didn't. She couldn't recall much of how she'd gotten back into her bed either but for a few awkward moments that had passed between her aide and herself; being carried over his shoulder to her bed was one of them.

She wished he'd had the nerve to dress her, but she was grateful for the extra blankets, even if they didn't do much to stop the iciness that emanated from inside herself.

"Madam President!" Billy's voice was more insistent now.

"Billy." She'd meant it to sound reassuring, but all she heard was a dry-mouthed croak. A chair scraped the deck and the air shifted as the boy scurried closer.

"Can I get you anything, Madame President? Chamalla, perhaps?"

"Water."

The chamalla had lost the fight against the cancer. It had helped her get to this point, enabling her to cover up what had been happening to her, but its effects had dwindled rapidly this past week. The game was over.

Laura willed herself to open her eyes and found Billy hovering over her, dread in his eyes.  
"It's okay, Billy," she whispered wearily. Her tongue felt cottoned and seemed to be too large for her mouth.

Billy shook his head, unwilling to be soothed by the obvious white lie. "Why won't you let me get Doctor Cottle?"

"Little he can do." Little other than dosing her to the point of oblivion, which, right now, seemed a blissful scheme... except that there was still one thing she needed to do before handing the presidency to Baltar.

The boy carefully lifted her head to help her drink. The cool wetness trickled over her tongue, slowly dissolving the parchedness.

"You knew this would happen eventually," she reminded him softly.

He radiated helplessness. She would have moved her hand over his, but the frostiness had settled in her fingers. It would probably worry him all the more. She knew it scared her.

She had to make him go. She couldn't look out for him now, and his agitation threatened to destroy the strained grip she had on her equilibrium. She was coming apart rapidly and she desperately needed to be alone for that. Her private agony, her terror of dying, wasn't something she wanted to share, nor was the raw pain that she couldn't suppress any longer.

"Why don't you go and cancel today's appointments?"

"Madame President?"

"Reschedule Commander Adama for tomorrow. I do need to see _him_." It was time to implement her plan. She sighed. Bill wouldn't like it.

It took a moment before she noticed the boy hadn't moved. "Please go, Billy. I'll be okay after I've rested a while."

"You will be okay?" he repeated doubtfully.

"Well ...," she conceded. She smiled thinly at him, straining to keep her features composed. He was a good boy. Naive at times perhaps, but he was still young enough for that to be an endearing quality. She was certain he'd grow out of it in time. "I need to sleep this one off, like the others. Reschedule, Billy. Take the day off. Come back tomorrow."

Dejection crept over his face but, despite his obvious misgivings, he rose to leave.

"And Billy..."

He bent over her to catch her words. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

He inclined his head and for a moment she thought he would pat her arm, but then he smiled wanly, turned and closed the curtain behind him.

When she heard his footsteps disappear in the distance, she exhaled noisily.

Pain racked the parts of her body she could still feel. She clutched her breast, whimpering. She was glad that she no longer had to pretend that this was not the worst thing that had ever happened to her, or that it wasn't harder than she'd thought it would be when she'd declined Sharon's offer.

Not that it hadn't tempted her. It certainly had.

A new body.

A stronger, younger and above all, healthy body.

Gods.

Yes, it had enticed her.

But living in a cylon body was no option. Switching sides in the war fought over the extermination of mankind was not an option. Deserting her people and everything she believed in, just to live… she couldn't do it then; she wouldn't do it now. Even though now her upper body racked with red-hot spasms of pain, she couldn't help to linger over her past choices.

"Lords of Kobol..." She tried to pray but she couldn't find any words.

When the blackness finally enveloped her, she welcomed it.


	2. Chapter 2 - Billy and Bill

CHAPTER 2

"Yes?" Adama studied Roslin's aide. "What can I do for you?"

The boy hesitated, seemed to waver under his gaze.

"You'll have to speak up, son. I'm not the one with the visions."

Billy flinched. "It's the President."

Adama nodded. That much had been obvious. He moved his hand to indicate the boy to go on.

"She doesn't know I'm here."

Bill raised his brows at that. It wouldn't help his relationship with Laura if he went behind her back. "Then perhaps you shouldn't be here."

The boy swallowed. "She tried to hide it, Sir, but," there was a sudden flicker of terror in Billy's eyes, "I think she's dying."

"I've been aware of that for some time now."

Apart from her own public confession in the brig, Billy surely must have noticed how they'd started to sneak in and out of each other's quarters at odd hours since they had returned from Kobol. The boy must be incredibly green if he believed that Adama hadn't touched her in places were her illness could hardly be hidden.

"There's little I can do about it." Or else he would have done it by now. Being powerless, having to watch her deteriorate was unhinging him more than he wanted to admit. Anything, well just about anything, was preferable to this.

The President's aide squinted, taking in the commander's expression and then shook his head.

"No, Sir. That's not what I meant. I meant …," the boy swallowed, "…I think she is dying right now."

"What?"

The boy nodded mutely.

Adama was halfway out of his chair before he even realized he moved. He grabbed the phone. "Dee, have doctor Cottle report to…" He turned to Billy

"Where?!"

"Colonial One, Sir, but she wouldn't want …"

"Colonial One," Adama barked in the horn. "And make that immediate!"

"You," he pointed at Billy, "come with me."

"But…"

"Now!"


	3. Chapter 3 - A proposal he can t refuse

"Frakking woman," Adama muttered under his breath. With an effort he kept himself from pacing the shuttle. "Why didn't you…?" His fist hit the wall. Pain jolted to his elbow.

Billy watched him apprehensively and relocated to the place furthest away from him, eyeing him warily. Adama looked at him hard, but then fell silent and stared out of the window, his jaws clenched.

Maybe he should have expected something like this when she had made herself scarcer and scarcer the past few days. She had always been a very self-contained woman and perhaps he should have anticipated that she'd choose to withdraw when it was time to die. It hurt him nevertheless. He'd thought that what they had between them meant more.

It did to him.

She probably wouldn't respond well to his meddling, he realized, and he conceded that he probably shouldn't interfere. A month ago he wouldn't have, but now, now he couldn't stay away.  
He rested his head in his hands.

[time: 20 days earlier]

It had been the last thing he had planned. Though perhaps not really the last thing he'd wanted, and, as he had admitted to her later, his mind had previously wandered in that direction. It was, however, the last thing he'd expected to happen when he met her in her quarters for yet another round of briefings on the food situation.

It was not that she'd dressed differently. He'd seen the few suits she'd brought with her for the decommission of Galactica so often now that he would have noticed anything as obvious as that. And yet there was something about her that made him pause and look again. Even when he'd thought her an irresponsible religious hoodwink he'd considered her to be somewhere between lovely and striking, but now she was positively glowing, radiating. She looked more at ease with herself than he'd seen her before; she had dropped her polite political masks and he was faced with an unexpectedly uncomplicated sensuality.

His double take seemed to give her some private amusement. "Commander, please come in." Light-hearted intimacy had found its way into her voice as well and he felt himself straightening in reaction to it. He saw she noticed that too. Her smile deepened.

Was it just his imagination, or was the President of the Twelve Colonies feeling libidinous tonight?

"Madame President," he nodded his greeting, not visibly acknowledging her subtext, pondering who her lover was, and why nobody had reported anything even remotely suggesting she had one. Judging by the rather steamy look of the President, he expected that her lover wasn't far away. His eyes drifted to the half-open curtain leading to the compartment where she slept. Was he there now?

"Shall I come back another time?" Much as he enjoyed seeing this unexpected side of her, he did not want to keep her from what she was so obviously very ready for. But Gods, she was beautiful like this.

Her eyes lit up as if she realized why he'd made the offer. She shook her head. "No. Please, Commander, there's something I'd like to discuss. Why don't you have a seat?" She sipped her drink and then held the glass up. "Ambrosia?"

"Thank you." He squinted at her, wondering if she was intoxicated. This meeting was clearly not going to be about the food situation.

She brought him his glass and perched on her desk, looking down at him. Normally he would have resented that as a common demeaning politician trick, but now he only wondered if she realized how the position showed off her legs. "What's on your mind, Madame President?"

"You may have noticed that there are very few people in our particular age group in this fleet."

He nodded.

"Which is good," she continued, "for the chances of the survival of the human race, but not always the best thing when it comes to finding compatible companions."

He entertained a stray thought about the age category the President's lover would fall into and appraised her anew. She'd attract younger men as easily as men of his own age.  
"Colonel Tigh is one of the very few lucky people whose partners survived the end of the world," she said.

Adama grimaced. In that particular case, 'lucky' might be overstating it a bit, but he understood her meaning and nodded. He took a sip of his ambrosia, concerned about where this was heading. He was _definitely_ not willing to get involved in the procreation of mankind. It had been her pet project ever since she had announced that they 'should start having babies', but so far he had managed to avoid any active involvement in its implementation. "Time will take care of that," he responded curtly. He silently regretted not having left while he still had had the chance to avoid this conversation. He studied the glass in his hands.

"Time is something I do not have an abundance of."

He cast her a quick glance. She hadn't mentioned her health before and he was surprised she brought it up it now. Was her illness progressing more rapidly than anticipated?

"Are you okay?" To his unqualified eyes, she looked more alive than he'd seen her in quite a while.

"As good as can be expected, thank you. But the cancer _has_ reshuffled some of my values; it has forced me to reduce the trivia and discard some old notions."

He hadn't expected this elaboration and was vaguely curious as to what these notions had been.

"My life is simpler in a lot of ways now," she continued. "And as time is running out, my patience is wearing thin, and I'm inclined to speed some things up a little."

She stood and stretched her back, pressing her hands in her hips. Her slow movements still radiated that unreserved free-spiritedness when she sauntered over to the cupboard on the far side of the room to refill her glass.

"You and I both are in a position that makes finding a compatible companion a near impossibility."

He suddenly realized were this was leading. He struggled to keep his face neutral even though she seemed to have chosen this moment to turn her back to him and allow him a private moment to react. He'd always thought of her as one of the most pragmatic women he'd met. Even when she spoke about religion or visions it was always levelheaded, thoroughly rational. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that she would be just as frank and sensible when it came to other matters too.

"Madame President?"

She took a deep swig of her ambrosia and turned towards him.

"I'd been thinking," she brought the bottle with her, refilled his glass and settled back on the desk, "that it might be a good idea that we … assist each other." She regarded him calmly, not making any move that indicated she would be troubled by whatever answer he gave, though the way she kept a hold onto her glass suggested she was not as undaunted as she would like him to think.

"Assist each other?" he asked straight-faced.

Roslin, with a quick grin, conceded his point. "We can improve the semantics as we go along."

He knew she would wait him out from her high ground on the desk until he reacted to her suggestion. She had made her move; now it was up to him. He knew that if he'd simply change the subject, she would accept that as her answer and never bring it up again. He also realized that he didn't want to walk away. Not from this woman. Firm and gentle, a leader but also lost, beautiful and quite frankly the only 'compatible companion' he'd find in this fleet, as she had so justly pointed out before.

Her eyes followed him as he rose from his chair and walked over to the table. The corners of her mouth turned upward when he neared her, welcoming him. He stopped just inside her personal space, to test his ground and when she tilted her head in question, he raised his hand to stroke her hair out of her face and read her eyes.

She lightly leaned into his hand, untroubled by his scrutiny. She smiled, watching him judging her, checking her resolve. Her eyes shone more brightly than normal, but underneath remained her solid common sense. She was a powerful woman in her mid-fifties, who had thought this over and had decided this was what she wanted. She wanted him. She meant business, but in an easy friendly way that allowed for a kind rejection and secretly charmed him.

"You and me, frakking?" he asked, his voice sounding a little hoarser than he'd wanted.

"Yes." Her voice had found a new dark timbre of her own, "you and me, frakking."

He knew time was running out for her and that that would play a role in her life, sooner rather than later. He silently speculated what he would have done if he'd been the one who was terminally ill. Frakking? He somehow doubted it. Inwardly he saluted the sensibility of her choice.

"Am I your farewell gift to yourself?"

He saw in her eyes that that was a little too close to home, but after a short hesitation she nodded. "That's part of it."

He gently hooked her hair behind her ear.

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" she asked.

"Not particularly." He shook his head. "On Kobol I told you I regard my life as a gift. A gift from you."

She nodded.

"Though I'm not usually one to return gifts easily…" he continued.

She smiled wryly at his dig.

"…I think in this case I should make an exception."


	4. Chapter 4 - Colonial One

[time: current]

When they arrived at Colonial One, Adama exited the shuttle at a trot, Billy close behind him. By the time they rounded the first corner Adama was jogging faster. He was running flat out when they reached Laura's quarters. People jumped aside and stared after them.

At the threshold of her cabin he came to a full stop, panting, the curtain in his hand.  
The room was empty but for the still form on the couch that doubled as her bed.

Adama cursed. "Cottle!"

He hardly registered Billy shifting tensely behind his back, but stared at the bed, suddenly afraid of what he'd find.

The President had wrapped herself in a fetal position around one of the large cushions. She seemed to have lost even more weight in the past few days than in all the weeks before. Her eyes were closed, her red hair plastered to her pale face, her slender shoulders bare above the covers, her hands clutching the cushion. She looked ghostly, waxen and lifeless.

Billy had reported her dying an hour ago. Was she dead now? Adama briefly closed his eyes and swallowed.

Billy wormed past him and quickly moved over to the woman.

"Madame President?" He bowed over her, watching her closely, trying to establish her condition without inadvertently touching her.

The ineffectiveness of it jerked Adama out of his immobility and he strode to the bed, moved the boy aside and checked for a heartbeat at her throat. When he found it, he let out a relieved sigh and heavily sat down on the side of the bed.

"Where's that doctor?" he asked curtly.

"I don't know that, Sir." Billy shrugged. "You ordered him here."

Adama fixed him with a stare. If the boy had kept his wits together, Laura would be in Life Station now, receiving ample care and he would not be losing her like this, today.

"Damn right I did." His voice was no more than a whisper. "As you should have done hours ago!"

The boy stepped back as if hit, glowering indignantly. "She didn't want that! In fact she expressly stopped me from doing that. And it was her choice to make." _Not yours_. Billy didn't say it, but it was very clear what he meant.

"Yet you came to me," Adama stopped the boy in mid-rant.

Billy blinked.

"Just go find Cottle!"

Adama turned to the woman on the bed, effectively dismissing the boy.

"Madam President?" he prodded gently, moving the blankets up to cover her shoulders.

Laura didn't move.

Her ashen complexion troubled him and he checked her throat again, thankful when he found a pulse. She was alive, barely maybe, but still here. He gently rolled her limp form onto her back, easing the cushion away from her, finding a comfortable position for her body.

"Laura?"

Her hands were bitter cold. He took them between his own, rubbed them and blew on them, trying to bring some warmth back to them.

He had known she would die; he'd known that when he first took her in his arms. But at that point he hadn't really anticipated that their attachment would grow beyond the friendly release that came with frakking a trusted body. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, lingering there as her scent reached him. He inhaled it deeply. He'd lose that too. The sudden emptiness in his gut made him reel.

A movement yanked him back to the world. Billy stood nearby, frowning at him and staring at the President's forehead.

"You still here?" Adama snapped.

The boy stepped back from the menace in his eyes.

"Get that doctor!" Adama ordered hoarsely.

"But…"

"Just do it, Mister Keikeya. You've lost enough time already."

"Move aside!" Doc Cottle wheezed when he finally arrived.

When the doctor pushed back the blankets and revealed the President's partly clothed body, Billy turned away, blushing. He looked pointedly at the Commander. Adama sighed, but followed the boy out of the bedroom and sank down into the armchair behind her desk.

After a few minutes Cottle appeared, frowning fiercely. "Now, why the frak did you order me here?!"

Adama eyed him. He opened his hands. Surely it was obvious. What else could he have done?

"She's here," he said.

"And life support frakking isn't!" Cottle bristled.

Adama's head snapped up. A shiver ran up his spine. He was an idiot. This could cost her… He was an incredible idiot.

"Mr. Keikeya," the doctor looked at the young man. "Can you carry her?" He pointed at the President.

"Is that wise?" Billy stepped back, suddenly wide-eyed, his hands defensively in front of him, blushing.

Cottle raised a brow at that unexpected reticence. "Do you see a stretcher?"

"No."

"Then let's move!"

"You want _him_ to…" Adama stepped forward.

"You and I aren't getting any younger," the doctor cut him short. "Hurry up. We need to get her back to _Galactica_. Now!"

Billy pulled away her blankets and, with deep red spots on his cheeks, clasped her naked arm, ready to haul her up and over his shoulder in a secure fireman's grip.

Adama stepped forward.

"No way." He was _not_ about to let her be carried to _Galactica_ like that.

"Sir?" Billy froze.

"Release her," Bill growled, advancing on the boy.

The boy stepped back hastily.

Adama draped the coverings back over Laura's frail frame, slid his arms under her body and lifted her gently, blankets and all. She was much lighter than the first time he had carried her like this, only a few weeks ago. He shifted her delicate form in his arms, so that her head fell against his chest.

"Lead the way, Doc."

He turned to Billy. "Get her some clothes and follow us in the next shuttle."

"But…"

"No but. You've had your chance. _You_ almost let her die."

"But…"

But the Commander turned and briskly strode to the exit, carrying his precious burden.

"Coming, Doc?"


	5. Chapter 5 - Stamina

[time: 19 days earlier]

She rested on top of him, her head on his shoulder, comfortable in their newfound closeness.

"Am I too heavy?" She moved reluctantly, tilting her head to look in his eyes.

"Stay." His hand found her butt and kept her from moving. She didn't weigh much and he really didn't mind lying like this for a while, enjoying her scent, the way her breasts pressed against his chest, the tickling of her long hair and, most of all, her relaxed naked trust.

"Good." Her head dropped to his shoulder again and she nestled closer.

They dozed off contentedly.

He stirred when her lower body chafed with diminutive movements against his upper leg.

"Bill?" she sighed near his ear.

"Hmm?" he grunted, his eyes plastered shut with sleep

"Would you mind?"

The movements of her body left little doubt of her intentions. With effort, he opened one eye and saw the clock spelled 03:14.

"Now?" He was sixty-one years old and he felt like it.

"Now would be good."

He sighed and closed his eye again. She was only eight years his junior, she was terminally ill, but that didn't seem to stop her. Perhaps it was the chamalla.

He rubbed his face, trying to surface from his dream. The rest of his body slept too. He was just too darn comfortable after the frakking, earlier.

"Persuade me," he suggested after a while.

She chortled and slid down over his body. "That's not an unreasonable demand..."

Did he just hear her purr?


	6. Chapter 6 - Couch frak

[time: current]

"You'll have to leave now," Cottle said firmly to Adama who had delivered her to Life Station.

"Hmm?" Bill watched the odd angle of her neck as she lay on the bed.

"I'm going to examine her. Give her some privacy."

"Hmhm." It bothered him how lifeless she seemed.

Cottle glared at him. "Commander?! Step outside. We're in a hurry here."

Adama finally registered his CMO's displeasure. His gaze left Laura with great reluctance.

He shook his head. "I'm staying! She's my …"

Girlfriend didn't begin to cover her role in his life.

"We are …"

Lovers? They were, but he wasn't sure she'd want that broadcasted.

"I am …"

The doctor raised a brow at the unparalleled stammering.

Adama straightened and glowered, "I am your commanding officer, Major, and I stay."

[time: 16 days earlier]

He reveled in the way the supple skin of her inner thigh rubbed against his hip.

After a Cylon-filled day, she had beguiled him into frakking her on his couch, claiming the need to find out if the sensation of leather against her back added to the experience.

He'd briefly closed his eyes before allowing his mirth to show on his face. "You don't have many reservations once you've set your mind to something, do you?"

"Do I scare you?" Her hands had drawn soothing patterns on his chest.

He'd chuckled. "Surprise me, yes. And wear me out, that too. But I'm a soldier, Madame President." He'd captured her hands. "Cylons scare me. Randy women on the other hand…." He'd sized her up brashly.

"Randy?"

He'd grinned. "Still working on the semantics."

But she'd gotten her way and now he was panting heavily, losing himself in how she rocked and sighed beneath him, unreservedly surrendering herself to their mutual pleasure.

He could easily love this woman. The fact that the President wore nothing but his military issue socks added to the attraction, and the socks were just a concession to her cold feet, the latest side effect of her illness. Not for the first time he wondered why they had waited so long before they'd crossed this threshold.

She giggled.

He slowed his pace until she sought his eyes.

"Madame President." With some effort he stopped himself from thrusting altogether. "A man generally doesn't take it as a good sign when a woman starts to giggle while he fraks her."

"But you're above all that?" She moved her hands through his hair while her lower body started to retake the rhythm he had abandoned, coaxing him to continue.

"At my age a joke beats sex any time."

"Well, that's a line to make a girl feel wanted," she chided him. "If that's the best you can do, it's a good thing you like jokes better."

He grinned at her. "Let's," he groaned as the movements she made beneath him distracted him into driving himself back into her, "call it a draw."

She snorted. "No way, Commander." She scratched his back with her nails, sending shudders running down his spine, leaving him gasping. "But I'll accept your surrender," she conceded generously, using the flat presidential tone that used to annoy him so much when they still regarded each other as adversaries.

He raised both his brows. "Will you now?"  
The woman was unbelievable.

When trying to stare her down only led to more glee sparkling in her eyes, he pulled away, out of her. His body protested palpably against the withdrawal, but this was a challenge if he'd ever heard one.

"Hey!" She didn't seem to think this was his best plan either, and she propped herself up on her elbows, grabbling for her glasses, looking slightly chagrined at the turn of events.

He moved down over her body until he could slide her socked feet over his shoulders

"Oh my," she smiled languidly, "a new strategy. Thank the Gods for the military mind."  
When his lips lingered on her inner thigh she let herself sink back on the couch, her arms above her head. "Oh, dear. Don't stop ..." She moaned encouraging sounds to lead his way.

"Do you yield?" he asked.

She giggled in response. "Not yet."

When his lips found her core she writhed under him.

"Gods!"


	7. Chapter 7 - Three short scenes

[time: current]  
"Commander?" He hadn't heard Dee approach.

The girl cast a quick look at the President on the doctor's table and at the harried movements of the nurses. "Commander?"

"What?!" Adama turned his head, a scowl on his face. Helplessness was not his forte and Laura's illness – he didn't want to call it death – was forcing him to face it nevertheless.

"Sharon has asked to speak with you, Sir."

"That thing in the brig?"

Dee winced. "Yes, Sir."

He waved her away. "Later, Dee." Certainly he had larger troubles now.

"She says she has a solution for your biggest problem, Sir," Dee insisted.

 _A solution for my biggest…_ He turned slowly. "My biggest problem?"

"Yes, Sir. That's what she said, Sir."

"What was she talking about?"

Dee shrugged. "She wouldn't say, Sir. I assumed you'd know what it was."

He regarded her for a moment and then his eyes drifted to the bed. He nodded. "Thank you, petty officer."

[time: 12 days earlier]

Bill frowned at the collar of her jacket.  
It bent the wrong way and for no particular reason it distracted him during their bi-daily resource meeting.

After his eyes had drifted there for the fourth time, he quietly got up. Never stopping his argument about the distribution of water, he walked to her side of the desk and adjusted it.  
The way she calmly moved her head aside to let him do it, warmed him and the way doing the simple task satisfied him, made him realize that fiery frakking, gratifying and uninhibited as it was, was no longer the sole point of their union.

She lightly rested her cheek against his hand, and when he met her eyes he saw she recognized it, too.

He trailed her jaw line with the back of his fingers and then unhurriedly returned to his side of the desk and to the issue at hand.

[time: 9 days earlier]

"You're looking mighty content, lately." Trust Saul to notice the difference. "What was that proverb again about the cat and the canary?" Tigh laughed sardonically.

Adama looked at him, unfazed.

"There's no fooling me, Bill. What's her name?"

"Status report, Colonel?" Adama's face showed nothing but professionalism as he held out his hand.

Saul chuckled. "She got under your skin, huh?" He handed over the report and clapped a congratulatory hand on his commanding officer's back before leaving his quarters.

"Saul!"

Tigh turned at the door.

"Not a word!"

Tigh grinned broadly at this admission and with a cheerful gesture silently sealed his lips.


	8. Chapter 8 - Museum frak

[time: current]

Adama noticed that, on his way to the brig, he somehow hadn't moved beyond the port side reserve lockers. He caught himself staring at the hatch. Passing crewmembers frowned at him in much the same way they stared at Baltar when the doctor was once again gazing vacantly into nothingness.

"What?" He regarded Cally and the Chief, who had posted themselves by his side near the entrance to the locker.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Cally asked

He glowered at them.

"You seemed… preoccupied," the chief offered.

"For more than 15 minutes," Cally added.

Adama groaned inwardly, warily eying the entrance to the reserve lockers.

"Thank you. Carry on."

[time: 8 days earlier]

It proved harder to keep Saul totally out of the loop than Adama had expected. Though he hid behind his best stoic façade and Laura used her most off-putting political smiles to much effect, now and again one of them would drop the mask for a split second and derail the other's camouflage.

"Stop it!" the President hissed.

They were on their way to the brig for another round of interrogating the Cylon and he'd casually let the back of his hand come into contact with the back of hers every several steps, enjoying how a responding flush had crept up her cheeks.

"Madame President?" he asked conversationally.

She stopped in midstride and glared at him over the rim of her glasses.

"Madame President?" Billy turned and looked back at the two of them.

Laura cast Adama an exasperated look before turning to her aide.

"Is something wrong, Madame President?"

"I seem to have forgotten my notes on Cylon technology." Laura sighed. "I hate to ask, but would you mind…"

"No problem." It was obvious her aide was less than happy with this assignment, but he complied nevertheless.

Laura sent him off with her sweetest smile. "Thank you, Billy."

"Smooth," Bill congratulated her, stepping close. When she turned to him, he could easily imagine how the peeved look she gave him would have unnerved her former students. But before she could add words to her annoyance, Bill took hold of her hand and pulled her with him.

"What are you doing?" she whispered tersely.

He grinned at her. "Watch your step." He opened a hatch and helped her inside, closing the door behind her.

"Bill!"

"Yes?" He stepped inside her personal space, effectively defusing much of her annoyance.

"Where are we?" She raised herself on her toes, scanning the empty room over his shoulder.

"The port side reserve lockers," he murmured, distracted by the closeness of the curve of her neck. "Your museum."

She moved her head back as far away from his touch as she could until the door behind her stopped her. "You are an ill-behaved pain in the lower parts, Commander."

"Well, excuse me, Madame President," he calmly placed his hand against the hatch next to her ear, framing her against the door, "but I thought your little stunt in CIC required retribution."

"My stunt?" She leaned back against the door, visibly not intimidated by his attitude. "It hardly qualifies as that."

He snorted softly and took off her glasses.

"I smiled," she defended herself, holding up her hand to collect them.

"You radiated," he corrected her gruffly. "You scorched."

"Did I now?" She seemed unconcerned and put the glasses into her pocket.

He leaned over to her ear. "Saul is still recovering from it."

"Saul?" She tried to look in his eyes, but bumped into his ear. The cold tip of her nose caressed his cheek.

"Yes, Saul." He moved in closer.

"But I wasn't aiming at him." She sounded disgruntled.

"In that case, Madame President, you should not be allowed to carry that weapon."

"You have large earlobes," she murmured, distracted.

He pushed aside her hair and kissed her neck. "Yours aren't too bad either."

"Bill." Her hands pushed against his chest.

"I like your neck better," he ignored her protestation.

She groaned when he found the strategic spot that was somehow directly connected to her knees. Her fall against him was quite satisfactory.

"We can't…," she murmured weakly.

His hands appreciated the contours of her hips, and lingered at the hem of her skirt. "Your aide won't be back for some time," he reminded her in a low voice, and he started to unbutton her jacket.

"Here?" she asked.

He caressed her amazed, open lips with his own.

Her hands made halfhearted protesting movements against his chest. "You're trying to distract me." She sounded breathless now.

"Basic War College. Tactics 101." His hands found her skin and sent her shivering. "Keep the target from regaining her balance."

"Education is my undoing." But her hands started to unbutton his uniform jacket.

His lips found her sternum and she leant back against the door as he worked his way down her body. Her head dropped backwards, her eyes closed. She panted noisily and her hands weaved incoherent patterns in his hair.

When he felt her sag against the door, he smiled against her skin. She had surrendered.

"Bill?" Her hands slid from his head.

He raised his face at the odd small tone of her voice. She still slumped against the door with her eyes closed, but her sighing had stopped and the flush on her cheeks was replaced by a sweaty grayness. Her hands made a fluttering movement trying to reach him.

"Bill!"

When he rose to look at her, she slithered downwards against the door.

"Whoa!" He barely caught her before she bumped onto the deck. "Laura?"  
He crouched beside her, alarmed, inwardly mapping the shortest way to Life Station, and cursing himself. One of her shaking hands found his knee.

"Bill." It was little more than a whisper. "Pocket."

He searched her pockets, found her pills and handed her the bottle. Her hands ineffectively fumbled with the cap and she almost dropped it.

"Two," she whispered, handing it back to him.

He helped her sit up to take the drugs and, when relief washed over her, he gently lowered her body until her head rested in his lap. She looked up at him, her eyes a little unfocused. "I'll be right back," she murmured weakly. "Just give me a minute." Her eyes closed. "Maybe two."

He sank back against the door, staring across the room into nothingness while his hand softly moved through her hair.

There was no strategy that could win this battle and retreat was not an option, but his military mind kept trying to find a solution anyway.

He closed his eyes in resignation.  
This was his fault. He should have known better than trying to frak her standing up.

As her illness progressed, she'd unobtrusively started to seek out every opportunity to sit down that presented itself and quietly scheduled more and more of their briefings in his quarters. She would lie in his bunk propped up against the cushions and he'd sit on a chair beside her while they haggled over resources and priorities as they had always done.  
She _had_ developed a tendency to doze off during these meetings, and though he hadn't seen her lose her bearings like this before, he should have known gymnastic frakking was a bad idea. A stupid idea.

"Sorry to ruin your little plan," her voice interrupted his bleak thoughts.

He looked down and saw that her eyes were open again and that she regarded him in her normal composed way. "A simple 'no' would have done the trick, Madame President."

She smiled, grateful for the levity. "I've been thrown in the brig for less, so I thought…."

He snorted. Trust her to remind him of that. He was not getting into it now. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." She slowly moved her trembling hands were she could see them. "My body may need another few minutes though."


	9. Chapter 9 - Cylon plan

[time: current]

Adama scowled. He'd rather have stayed in Life Station than be here in the brig with this Cylon who, he was sure, was about to test his patience. He had enough trouble as it was. _A solution for my biggest problem._ Sure, he thought cynically. Let's have it. And let's be quick about it. He wanted to get back to Laura, even if it would only be to watch her die.

He picked up the telephone that connected the cell with the outside world. Vivid memories of the effort it had cost him not to strangle this Cylon last time, kept him from entering her cell now.

"Commander?" Sharon straightened to attention behind the glass.

It set his teeth on edge. The frakking thing had never served a day in its life. "You asked for me." He didn't try to hide his hostility or his impatience.

Sharon looked at him apprehensively. It took a deep breath. "There's no need for the President to die," it then declared.

That caught him off guard. Unshielded when the words first hit home, hope lunged through him. He almost immediately fought it with a dose of reality and snarled at the Cylon behind the wiring, hating it for toying with his emotions like this. Regret that he was not at striking distance was mixed with relief that he was not in a position to take his anger out on it physically.

He waited while the all too familiar desolation again supplanted the surge of hope. The present seemed darker than before after the unanticipated flash of light. He didn't bother to respond.  
Only when he tasted blood in his mouth, he realized he'd bitten his tongue.

"Her life can be saved," Sharon pressed.

"I heard you."

Anything that could give Laura a breeze of a chance was worth his consideration. Finding a way out of this hopeless situation had been the foremost of his mind these last weeks. He had resigned himself to the fact that there was no solution. But this…

Without a doubt, this was a Cylon plot.

The President's life was the perfect bait to trap humanity. It was cleverly timed too, hitting them when they were at their most helpless and unable to resist any strategy that might save her, no matter how farfetched. Bill felt exactly that vulnerable right now, but he decided he would resist this new piece of Cylon mind-frakking nevertheless. No good would come of it. And it hurt already.

"She's dying as we speak." He hoped Cottle had found a way to keep her alive, but there was no way to be sure about it down here. "I'm going back to her instead of wasting my time with you."

"You don't believe me?"

Adama turned to leave.

He had no reason to trust the Cylon but, while his rational military mind refused even to contemplate the idea, his pulse beat in his throat and his brain had kicked into overdrive at Sharon's unexpected announcement. What if there _was_ a way to keep Laura alive a little longer? What if he didn't listen to it? Wouldn't Laura in effect die by his hand then?

"You do recognize Cylons have overcome this simple barrier you call death, don't you?" Sharon's voice had gained urgency now that he had ended their talk.

It stopped him in his tracks. He turned to watch her, then he nodded. "I've heard Cylons speak of it."

He was certain the Cylons believed in it; he knew the Sharon-copy before him knew things only the Boomer who'd shot him could know. He admitted there was a good chance it was true.

"Yet you're not sure?" Sharon said.

With effort he leveled his voice to reasonability. "There's much I don't know about it."

"We can transfer the President's mind and soul to a new body," Sharon said matter-of-factly. "It's a straightforward procedure and a more civilized one than losing the knowledge and experience of an individual simply because the biological container gives out." The small grimace of distaste that crossed its face indicated its opinion of this process.

Adama reluctantly had to agree with its view. "That it is successful for Cylons is no guarantee that it will work for humans," he countered.

"We use flesh and blood to build spaceships. Reconstructing Laura Roslin is nowhere near as complex as that."

Adama smirked. He doubted that a basestar would have as complex a personality as the President. Or such fine thighs. The memory of her smooth skin blocked Sharon from his mind for a moment. He shook himself.

"She'd be a Cylon afterwards," he said. It wasn't a question.

"She'd be the Laura Roslin you know now, with all her memories and preferences."

"Or she could be altered," Adama growled. "There is no way for us to know - until it's too late. The Sharon who shot me was different from you. Or so you want me to believe…"

"The other Sharon was programmed to do that," it argued.

Adama pointedly raised his eyebrows.

"And exactly who would decide on the programming of Laura Roslin?"

The machine evaded his eyes.

"That's what I thought," he said in a low voice. "Is that why you offer to do this, to program the President of the Twelve Colonies? To get a grip on our government?" It seemed too crude a move, and hardly worth their while. The Presidency was not exactly hereditary. There were elections within a few months.

"It's an offer of reconciliation."

"Sure." Incredulity and irritation were heavy in his voice. She must think him a fool.

"Tyrol and Helo risked their lives for me. They killed a human to save me, and they nearly got executed for that. It's time I repay that."

It didn't make any sense. Why would saving Laura count as a repayment?

Impatiently he took a step forward. He had no time for eleven rounds with this machine while Laura was dying in Life Station. "Cut to the chase."

Sharon was silent for a moment. "She would be the perfect liaison between our peoples," it then said.

He didn't bother to cover his skepticism. It would require considerable reprogramming. Up till now the President had consistently shoved Cylons out of airlocks.

This was leading nowhere. The whole discussion seemed to have outlived its usefulness. He wanted to get back to Laura, while she was still alive. "We don't negotiate with Cylons."

"Perhaps you should reconsider that," Sharon objected. "You are losing this war. We outnumber you two hundred to one. Negotiation is all that you have left."

 _Two hundred to one!_ He stored the ten million Cylons for further consideration and realized that, even though Sharon implied humans needed to negotiate, this conversation was an opening of a dialogue by the Cylons. They offered something the humans could not refuse. They offered the life of the human leader.

Why they offered it still wasn't clear to him. "What would we have to negotiate with?" he took the bait, cautiously feeling his way.

Sharon's smile reminded him of Ellen Tigh's, and he backed away instinctively - until the span of the telephone cord stopped him. Why did it smile at his question? If this was not about reciprocity, about getting something in return, then what was it about?

The picture of a cured Laura surfaced before his mind's eye. There was a new bounce in her step and he couldn't help but appreciate the way her hair moved as she came closer. He dimly wondered if his sixty-one year old body would be able to keep up with her, _if_ she would be willing to come back to his bed at all. He'd have to …

He snapped out of it as the key slid into place with a resounding clang. He was staggered by the sheer audacity of the plan.

He'd have to …

If the President accepted this for herself, she wouldn't be able to prevent other humans from following her example. And with the President leading the way, it was certain that more dying humans would want this reincarnation the Cylons were offering. How many would choose death when immortality was offered? Would _he_ be able to resist?

Just as he himself was only listening to this Cylon out of desperation, he was sure others would listen for the same reason.

Sooner or later someone wouldn't want to wait until death's door before transforming… and so the human race would slowly assimilate into the Cylon group. Humanity would become Cylon, and the Cylons would have humans to solve the reproductive problems that the farms on Caprica suggested they wrestled with.

Once the President of the Twelve Colonies was transplanted into a Cylon body, there would be no stopping this plan. Her programming would probably encourage her to promote it, too.

No way.

No. Way.

"Suppose I say 'yes'." There appeared a glimmer of hope in Sharon's eyes. "How would you do it? You'd need a new body to transport her soul to."

"Remember the large Cylon vessel the _Pegasus_ encountered?"

Adama nodded.

"It's a production unit."

He looked at her, nonplussed.

"It's where Cylon bodies are produced."

The strategic implications of that knowledge set off fires in his brain.

"Timing is essential though," Sharon said.

 _Of course._ Bill suppressed a wry smile. In negotiations, the party that lacked time was at a disadvantage. Laura was pressed for time like never before.

"To give her a new body, President Roslin needs to be at the production unit before her soul leaves her current body." Sharon raised her hands in an apologetic gesture. "Normally we start a bit earlier growing replacement containers … now there's not a lot of time."

The Cylon's planning was perfect.

"Do you agree with the plan, Commander?"

Finally he allowed his revulsion to show. This charade had lasted long enough. It had been entirely too painful. "I'd rather shove her out of the airlock myself."

He saw Sharon's eyes shift in frustration.

"Hell," he said, "she'd probably shove _herself_ out of one before I could even get close enough to her."

He walked to the door and opened it to leave. Never would he participate in this slow but certain destruction of humanity, not even if it would bring Laura back to him. Which it wouldn't. It would only give him a copy.

"Adama!"

"Yes?" He didn't turn, but kept the hatch open to listen.

"Do you have the power to decide this for the President of the Twelve Colonies?"

He froze.

Touché.

He did not.

He closed the hatch behind him with a bang.


	10. Chapter 10 - Careful frak

[time: 5 days ago]

"Isn't it enough that I surrendered?" Bill asked.

She was lying on her back on his couch, pale, exhausted and gaunt, covered by his blanket. Her one hand held a planetary survey at eye level, the other hand played with his hair. Bill sat on the floor, his back against the couch, memos on a possible supply location neatly arranged on the floor around him. He relaxed into her touch, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

"I just play the cards that are handed to me," she countered. The subject at hand was her desire to sleep on top of him.

"And those would be?" He unhurriedly moved his head so that her hand could reach the other side of it too.

She ruffled his hair in response. "You should count your blessings, Commander. It could have been worse."

"Hardly," he said wryly. _At least she'd kept their new balance confined to his quarters_.

But his was only the token resistance. She could lie anywhere she saw fit, if that made her happy, as long as it was near him. Her desire for frakking had diminished as her energies waned, but she'd continued to come to him at night. If she occasionally initiated lovemaking, he took his time with her, drawing his satisfaction from pleasuring her. And as one of her pleasures seemed to be to have him cry out her name in the throes of passion, he didn't suffer much.

"What about this planet?" He handed her a sheet of paper over his shoulder.

She brushed his hand when she took it and held the memo where she could see it.  
"Right direction, right gravity, right resources," she cataloged. "This seems the most promising of the lot."

"I agree."

"Let's do it." The fact that she had problems standing up for more than ten minutes at a time didn't for a second diminish the ease with which she wielded her executive power.

He walked over to the phone and told Tigh to change course.

When he turned he found her appraising him. He frowned, knowing the look she gave him was an overture, and feeling trepidation.

She'd become far too economic in her gestures. He was almost certain that her pain had risen above her medication levels.

It wasn't something she discussed, however. Bill deduced that her reticence was partly to protect him from her pain and partly to protect herself from his pity, to keep her dignity now she had to shed so many other protective barriers.

Whatever her reasons, he couldn't help seeing her suffering and he couldn't imagine how frakking could possibly be on her mind. Not for the first time he wondered if she saw it as the last proof that she, at least for the day, was still alive. He very much doubted she was up to it though, and he was unsure how they could go about it without him inadvertently hurting her.

When he didn't move, she patted the couch next to her.

He shook his head.

A fleeting look of vulnerability crossed her face before she turned her head away. She was even more conscious of the changes of her body than he was. Clothes hid some of her new fragility, but naked there was no escaping the progress of her illness. Bill belatedly realized how she could have misunderstood his response. When he saw dismay creep up her features, he walked to the couch.

"Move over." He tapped her hip. When she complied, he opened his jacket and stretched out alongside her, using his hands and knee to lift her on top of him. She repositioned herself until she'd found her comfortable nook, pulled the blanket back over them both and then levered herself on her elbows to search his face. One of his hands slid around her waist, the other cupped her butt.

"Sudden change of heart?" Her body melted against his nicely enough and her knee had opened negotiations of its own, but her tone spoke volumes of intolerance to any feelings of pity he might harbor.

He contemplated several answers while he opened his legs a bit to allow her knee room to maneuver.

 _I love you_.

In the end, he settled for the condensed version of the truth.

"I don't want to hurt you."

She studied his face and seemed to sift through the layers of his answer. Whatever she found there made her briefly close her eyes and rest her forehead against his chin. She tapped his chest soothingly. Without looking up, she relaxed against him, her head in the niche between his chin and collarbone, her breath warm against his skin.

"Just hold me, Bill, and we'll take it from there."

Afterwards he carried her to his bunk. She found her nook on his body again and they settled in for the night.

He stirred when he felt her body tense in little shocks. He slid his arms around her in support, rubbing her back soothingly.

When she woke up, gasping from a particularly large shudder of pain, he closed his eyes, evened out his breath, feigning sleep.

Laura rolled off of him with small strained movements, grunting softly and fighting further tremors until she was clear of him. Once she was away, she turned her back and curled in a ball. Spasms racked her body. The minute muffled whimpers that accompanied them left him with little doubt of the pain that wracked her.

She was still well within his personal space, close enough to touch, but the effort it had cost her to move away from him stopped him. His hands clenched to fists, he waited, trying to hold it together, fighting his urge to intervene, to offer comfort. Having to watch her helpless like this, shook him.

For the better part of an hour they lay there; together, both trembling and both alone; a replica of that night on Kobol. They seemed to have come full circle; he dreaded where they would be going from here.

It took another half hour before she was able to push herself up on her elbow and reach for the water. Her teeth clattered against the glass.

Bit by bit she worked herself up to a sitting position and, after a long moment, she got up. Cautiously supporting herself against the furniture, she collected her scattered clothing and slowly dressed herself, sitting down on the bunk whenever she could.

Fully dressed, she turned to look at him and started slightly when she found him awake and watching. She caught his eye. Her smile was tired but genuine.

"I have to go now," she said softly.

He nodded, not trusting his voice

He realized she would not come to his bed again.

She had returned his gift.

Again.


	11. Chapter 11 - Baltar and Cottle

[time: current]

Much to Doctor Cottle's dismay, Adama had set up office in Life Station and worked his way through the daily reports in a corner of Laura's curtained-off personal area. He wanted to be with her. Adama knew he couldn't do anything at all, but there was nothing to be done about his need to be there. He told Tigh it was just in case she woke up, and that was certainly part of it, but to himself he admitted the need went deeper than that.

Adama's sleepless presence scared some visitors away, among them the Vice-President who endlessly hovered, hoping to take over the presidency as soon as Laura's death was confirmed. At one point Baltar tried to imply that Adama had kidnapped the President from _Colonial One_ and ought to release her into his custody. Adama's livid glare convinced the Vice-President not to pursue that idea any further. Realizing what havoc Baltar's presidency would wreak almost made Adama reconsider Sharon's offer.  
 _The devil you know_. Indeed.

Billy Keikeya sat quietly on the other side of the bed, working his way through Laura's paperwork in much the same way as Adama worked through his. The boy showed common sense and loyalty and, it didn't take Adama long to realize, genuine devotion for the woman on the bed. They found their common ground there and cooperated in looking after her and keeping her peace undisturbed.

Laura was hooked up on machines, the function of which Adama didn't want to hazard a guess about, but he'd quickly located the one that monitored her heartbeat. At times he caught himself watching it; listening, counting, dreading.

Whatever it was Cottle had done to her, she looked imperceptibly better than she had when Adama first delivered her to Life Station; more asleep than dead now, her heartbeat slow but steady.

Cottle stood near the bed, checking medical displays and scribbling on her chart.

"How's she doing?" Adama asked. Billy looked up from his reports.

Cottle paused and considered the men.

Adama silently opened his hands to indicate that he thought that doctor-patient confidentiality had outlived its usefulness now. Apart from their personal feelings, both he and Billy needed a prognosis to work with.

Cottle nodded in response. "The cancer has reached her brain," he said. "Some motor functions are damaged. Cognitive areas seem unaffected … for now." Cottle hesitated.

Adama narrowed his eyes. "Let's have it, Major."

"If she regains consciousness, then this, this and this tumor," Cottle pointed at the scan he held in his hand, "will make it increasingly difficult for me to keep the pain at an acceptable level and allow her to be alert, or even coherent, at the same time."

"But she _will_ wake up?" The doc had Adama's full attention now. He didn't want her to suffer… _but to be able, at least, to say 'goodbye_ '…

"Will she?" he pressed.

The doctor tapped on the scan, circling the unaffected areas with his finger. "I'm keeping her sedated, but everything indicates she's still there."

Adama sighed in relief.

"Don't get your hopes up. She doesn't have much time left."

"How much?"

"A couple of days at most. Could be less."

Adama wondered at what point in the past fifty-three sleepless hours this kind of information had turned into 'good news', but it had and it was.

"So yes," Cottle continued his original line of reasoning, "she'll wake up… if we let her." The doctor sounded as if he had some reservations. "Do we want to?"

"No, we don't," Billy stated firmly.

"Yes, we do," Adama overruled him.

Apart from his personal need to see her eyes just one more time, the Raptors he'd sent out had located the Cylon production unit. Though he didn't doubt the outcome, the time had come for Laura to choose.

[time: three hours later]

"But I'm the vice-president!"

"Nevertheless, there's little you can do here," Adama said calmly. "So I advise you to leave."

"But I don't want to leave." Baltar raised his voice indignantly. "I want to know if she's still alive."

Adama rose with deliberate slowness, fixing the VP in an undisguised threatening glare. From the corner of his eye he saw Billy rise too, equally vexed by the implication. "Pardon me, Mister Vice-President?"

Baltar backed away from the menacing glower.

Adama took a step in the VP's direction, when he heard a strange variation in the bleep of the heart monitor, followed by a low whimper. He stopped abruptly and swung around in time to see her coil back into the fetal position he had found her in, days ago. Her wheezing breath pierced the sudden frozen silence.

"Cottle!" Adama roared over his shoulder. Then he turned to Baltar. "Satisfied?" he snapped.

The doctor rushed into the curtained area, cursing, syringe in hand. He drove the needle in her upper arm. "This should help in a minute," he assured her, his hand calming against her back while he checked the monitors.

The men waited silently as the President little by little relaxed from her strained position and with measured movements worked her way back to her back. She wrapped her arms around her torso, while struggling to regain full consciousness.

Without moving her head, she groggily took in her environment. When she recognized Life Station she sighed and closed her eyes in dismay. Bill twitched, fully aware he had brought her here without her consent. After a few minutes she opened her eyes again. Billy and Cottle received a weak, weary, squint; Adama an imperceptible curl of her lip. He didn't quite know how to interpret it, but it didn't seem entirely negative. She glowered at Baltar, however, taking her time to get her dissatisfaction across. "Amalivemisr," she mumbled.

"Excuse me, Madame President?" Baltar bent forward, to hear her words better.

She plucked at the tubes in her mouth. "Jack?" She implored Cottle's help with her eyes as much as with her voice. When Cottle had removed the tubes, she took a shaky breath and swallowed with painful difficulty. Though she slumped in her bed, pale and disheveled, her gaze noticeably foreshadowed difficulties. "I'm alive, mister." The Presidential steel had found its way back into her voice.

Baltar backed away and had the grace to blush.

"Good day, Mister Vice-President," Adama dismissed him evenly.

"Uhm, yes, gotta go… pressing business …" The genius slid out of the room.

Adama went over to the bed and looked down at her, outwardly impassive but with a hint of apprehension in his eyes. As glad as he was to hear her voice again and as much as he appreciated that she was still herself despite the tumors in her head, he hadn't forgotten that she'd tried to keep him away from this part of her life and that he had snatched her from _Colonial One_ regardless of that. He'd taken control without invitation and she wasn't known to respond pleasantly to intrusions on her autonomy.

She regarded him. Deducing he had brought her here wouldn't take much effort. She cast a quick look at Billy, who also looked uncomfortable.

"I couldn't let…" Adama's voice trailed off.

She studied his face, taking him in and then quietly smiled at him. "Thank you, Bill."

He tilted his head at her unexpected reaction. She beckoned him with her eyes and, warily he stepped closer. Her cold hand slid into his. He shuddered; the resistance he had counted on evaporated so quickly that he lost his balance for a second.

"Same day?" she asked, softly squeezing his hand in response.

"Fifty-six hours." His thumb rubbed her fingers. "Two days."

"I need a clock."

"You'll get one."

The tightening of this chest dissolved into a bubbling gratefulness that she was here, now, with him. His fingers found her jawline almost on their own volition, the need to touch her too great to be stopped by the presence of Cottle and Keikeya.

"Who was the woman with Gaius?" Laura asked, ignoring the way his throat was working.

"Woman?"

"She reminded me of the Godfrey woman."

The commander exchanged a look with her aide. The boy shrugged. He hadn't seen anyone either.

Laura had started to shiver; she looked bluish. Her skin was sweaty and her hair was plastered against her head in a way he knew she'd abhor if she saw it. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Just cold."

"Not enough blood is reaching her extremities." Cottle said. "It'll get worse."

Adama glowered at him. "What are you going to do about it?"

Cottle made an evasive noise and shook his head.

"I'll get more blankets." Billy left the curtained area in a hurry.

Adama walked over to the foot of her bed. With a fixed stare at Cottle, he pulled out the covers and started rubbing her icy feet to warm them. He saw a shadow of her old smile glimmer on her face. She made a weak but contented sound and raised her brows in a faintly apologetic gesture at Cottle.

The doctor signaled that they shouldn't mind him. "I've seen worse," he said impassively.

She snorted and closed her eyes.

Billy entered with the blankets and looked askance at her foot in his hand. Adama shrugged and calmly put her foot down.

"Don't stop," she reproved him, her eyes still closed.

Adama set to work on the other foot.

Billy coughed.

Laura unhurriedly opened her eyes, caught the uncomfortable look on her aide's face and shrugged at him in much the same way Adama had done. She had little to gain from hiding this any more; it would only make things unnecessary complex.

While Billy spread the extra blankets on the bed, Adama bent to remove his shoes and pulled off his socks.

"Solidarity?" Cottle asked drily.

Adama ignored him and slipped the socks on her feet, rubbing them one last time, before he tucked in the blankets.

"Better?" he asked her.

She nodded at him, still looking faintly blue.

"Could you give us a moment?" Adama asked the men.

Billy looked at the President. When she nodded he left the area.

Cottle tapped her hand. "If he tires you," he jerked his head to indicate the Commander, "push the red button and I'll chase him off." He turned to Adama. "You have fifteen minutes," he decreed unsmiling. "No business. Stick to foot rubbing. She's running on reserves as it is."

Adama's eyes narrowed; for a moment he misunderstood the doctor's suggestion. But when he saw Cottle's nonplussed reaction, he coughed to hide the direction his thoughts had taken.

When Cottle turned to leave, Laura called him back.

"I'll let you know when the fifteen minutes are up, Jack."

"Patients," Cottle rolled his eyes. "They all know better than their physicians." He left, patting the pockets of his white coat to locate his cigarettes.


	12. Chapter 12 - Roslin's Plan

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Glasses?"

He found them on the nightstand and carefully placed them on her nose. "There's something you should know…" he said, and he sat down on the edge of her bed to explain Sharon's proposition to her.

Halfway through it she tiredly closed her eyes. It was not the reaction he had expected. "Laura?" he asked uncertain.

"I'm here."

The fact that she had withdrawn this way filled him with unease. "Should I stop?" The quirk of fate that had brought the solution was so close and yet so unreachable must grate at her even more than it had at him when he first heard it. _I shouldn't have brought it up_.

She opened her eyes, easily spotted his dejection and slipped her hand into his again. "Sharon offered it to me. Weeks ago."

That gave him pause. "You never …"

She waved the hidden accusation away as unimportant and irrelevant. "It's impossible." She tried to raise herself on her elbows for emphasis, but sank back to the bed tiredly. "It would break humanity's spirit if I defect; even if I abdicate first."

He agreed. She held the fleet together by sheer force of her character.

"It's a clever plan, though," she said.

"I've studied it from every angle," he replied. "I can see no way we can save your life, not without risking …" _you becoming a Cylon_. His military mind was still looking for an opening. "If at least we could let it backfire on them. Teach them not to frak with our minds like this."

She remained silent, regarding him pensively as if appraising him against a measure she hadn't disclosed, but that he seemed to fall short of nevertheless.

It made him uneasy. "What?" he asked.

She took a deep breath before answering. "We can."

"We can?"

She nodded soberly. "We can. I've had some time to consider it and found that their proposal has one serious weakness. I intend to use it. But I need your help."

"A flaw in their plan? You mean, other than that we are not going to fall for it?"

"Oh, but we will fall for it."

 _Did she just say…?_

"We will?"

He observed her guardedly. He hadn't for a second taken into account the possibility that Laura might contemplate to go along with the Cylon scheme. He had no back-up plan for that, other than that he knew that he couldn't allow it to happen, that he would have to stop her. The prospect of having to force her to die made him reel.

"The plan allows me access to their most valuable commodity," she argued.

 _The plan would give the Cylons full control over_ our _most valuable commodity_.

"So?" asked as neutrally as possible.

She bit her lip, scrutinizing him. Her grip on his hand strengthened.

 _Gods, don't let her start begging for her life now_. He braced himself.

"If they let me in … I can take them out."

"What?!"

It was so out of the anticipated pattern of dialog that he did a double take. For a second he drew closer, not believing what he'd heard; but the confirmation was there in her eyes. He recoiled and gaped at her before he abruptly turned away. _Suicide_.

"No." His voice left no room for negotiation.

He walked away from the bed, struggling to get a grip on his emotions and leaned against his temporary desk, staring at the curtain that surrounded the area.

 _A suicide run_. The final and least attractive of all military options. He'd witnessed defeated commanders destroy their broken ships in the First Cylon War; the final crash to take a superior enemy with them, to make their deaths count. But this…

Behind his back, she was silent. Waiting him out, no doubt, before she started her argument. Well, he wasn't going to help her with this one. He kept his back to her while he tried to regroup and gather counter arguments against her far-fetched, half-baked plan. How in the hell did she think she would… She wasn't military… He wouldn't allow …

The cold of the metal deck crept into his naked feet; he had left his shoes by the bed. The discomfort calmed him enough to consider that she was waiting for him to speak. He turned. Spotted his shoes, and found her slouched in her bed, her eyes closed.

"Laura?"

Cottle's fifteen minutes had come and gone and he had used them to discuss … 'Business' would be a very mild term to describe it. He'd haggled with her about life and death; her life and death. He went back to her side.

Her hands rested oddly immobile next to her hips. A thin film of sweat had appeared on her brow.

"Laura?"

"Just tired."

"Should I call Cottle?"

"No," she breathed.

"Should I go?"

She made a faint negating sound. Her hand moved over the blanket, opening a little. He took it, and pulled a chair near to sit, to wait with her until the spell had passed. She grew paler though; paler and perhaps a little green. Beads of sweat formed on her face and arms.

"Bill?" she asked after a while.

"Yes?" he squeezed her hand.

"Better go now. Going to …" she seemed to be grappling for the right word "…puke."

"I've seen puking before," he answered calmly, quickly scanning the area for the something she could use. "Can you hold this?" He handed her the basin he found in the nightstand.

When she started to shudder, he supported her back to hold her upright and held her hair back with the other hand.

Laura dry-heaved, making strangled sounds and convulsed as her body tried to rid itself of something that wasn't there.

He rubbed her damp back soothingly, shushing softly.

Her voice was the first thing to recover. "There's something to be said for not eating. You can let me down now."

Left to its own devices, her body sank limply against the mattress again. Adama regarded her worriedly, his mind preoccupied with her outrageous plan and still not feeling better about it.

"It's a military decision," he put forward.

Her sigh held a note of exasperation. He belatedly realized she'd wanted to keep him out of this decision, to spare him second thoughts about it later.

"Yes it is, Commander." She said. "Tough choice," she added cynically.

He winced. "Don't make light of it."

"It's hardly premature," she reminded him weakly. "Either I die here," a small movement of her hand indicated the disdain she felt for her environment. "Or I take out the largest Cylon vessel we've ever seen, the one where they reproduce themselves, their weapons factory, the one they have, incidentally, invited me into."

 _Either you die here, where I can comfort you, or I have to let you go and you'll be utterly alone in the end._ He shook his head and pulled her close.

"I _will_ die, Bill." Her voice had dropped to a whisper near his collar. "Very soon. It won't be pleasant." She had seen her mother end like this. He knew she didn't want to go that road. He never believed there was an alternative, but now she'd found one.

"You have to let me go," she murmured near his ear.

He froze, unwilling to even go in his mind to where that concession would take him.

She huddled closer. "You know what will happen if I stay," she persisted.

"I do," he admitted.

"Jack would take care of me," she put in. " _You_ would be the one to suffer." He knew he'd live in Life Station until she died and nodded his cheek against hers. "I don't want that," she said.

"I'll live," he dismissed her argument hoarsely. "You know what would happen if you go," he turned her argument around. He could easily picture her. The explosives strapped around her abdomen… The last blink of her eye before she pressed the button...The detonation that ripped her body …  
He shuddered. She held him.

"It would be quick, though," she said, pushing him up and away from her to see his face. "Not this waiting …" she paused until she had his full attention "…or this dreading which part of my brain will go next."

That scenario rattled him - almost as much as her plan. The brain tumor left her defenseless, with no alternative than to wait for inevitable degeneration, loss of dignity and a slow painful end.

"My death can achieve something; it can really mean something. Not just this … waste."

He didn't know what to offer her, and began to consider she might even be right, but he just couldn't, couldn't - and silently shook his head. "I don't want you to die," he rasped.

She turned her head away; her eyes drifted through the room, avoiding his. "Do you think I _want_ to die?" A small tremor in the corner of her mouth betrayed her before the tears appeared in her eyes.

[time: a little later ]

It had been over an hour since he'd left the President, and Cottle thought it well beyond time to up her sedation and send the Commander away. He opened the curtain, syringe in hand, and halted abruptly. As much as he'd secretly enjoyed Adama's reaction to his admonition to stick to foot rubbing, he hadn't for a second expected the picture he'd find.

Adama stretched out on her bed, face down, half covering her in what was at the same time a protective and a possessive gesture. Her arms were wrapped around his torso. The couple rested tranquilly, unmoving but for the hardly perceptible shaking of the Commander's body and the minute travel of her hands over the back of his uniform jacket. They seemed lost for the world.

Cottle stood still, hesitating. His wry remark remained unspoken as the cloud of gloom the couple radiated reached him and made him forget what it was he wanted to make light about. Adama's vigilance in the past few days had conveyed in more than words what this bond meant to him, but it hadn't prepared Cottle for the depth of his distress. The doctor's professional instincts compelled him to stop the Commander from upsetting his patient, but he couldn't bring himself to disturb what was likely to be one of their last private moments.

He started when he noticed Roslin watching him watching them. He held up his hands defensively and with an apologetic gesture turned to leave; his decision made. The President nodded quietly, smiled wanly and turned her face back to Adama. The last thing Cottle heard was the wounded groan with which the Commander responded to her kiss. He briskly moved himself and his nurses out of earshot.

[a little later, still in Life Station]

"Bill?" She tapped his back.

He immediately transferred his weight to his side and looked down at her. She shook her head in response to his unspoken apology.

"It's time we set things in motion," she said gently. "The Cylons need to know we plan to walk into their trap."

 _The plan. The suicide run._ It still rattled him. Not that she had come up with it. He wouldn't have thought of it, ever, but now that he'd heard it, her plan did make sense. She'd always placed herself at the service of her single objective. What troubled him was that he had to let her go like this... alone… He still wasn't sure he could do that.

"Your plan needs modification," he told her.

The way she tiredly regarded him stopped him from elaborating. Her hand left his back and she weakly tried to push him away.

"There's a condition," Adama said, caressing her face with a finger, stung by her wariness. There was only one way this was going to work, one way he could allow this to happen.

Her eyes slowly focused on him again. "Yes?" she croaked.

"We'll do this together. I'll walk this path with you as far as I can."

She looked at him a long time, her expression shifting from forlorn to bewildered to astonished.

Adama kept his breathing even, stopping himself from putting forward his argument, hoping she would just give in, allow him at least this much, now that he had to lose her so soon.

She finally nodded mutely.

"Deal," she whispered.

In Life Station, the small group of people involved in the plan had gathered around the President's bed. Laura lay propped up against the pillows; looking gray and exhausted. She seemed to be following the discussion with only a small part her attention, and focused on the documents in her hand.

"I still think it's a frakking stupid idea that you join her in that shuttle," Tigh told Adama gruffly. "Too many eggs in one basket."

"He has a point there," Apollo put forward. Tigh's head snapped around, surprised by the unexpected support.

Adama pursed his lips. "I don't anticipate any problems," he said. "But in case something unexpectedly goes wrong, you take over, Saul. It's as simple as that."

"Erm," Starbuck interjected, "I heard that was not a huge success last time."

Tigh glared at her and opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but Adama silenced him with a curt gesture. "The decision is made. She goes. So I go."

In the sudden silence Billy stepped towards the bed and handed Roslin a pen. She stared at the papers for a moment longer and then placed her signature on them.

"Would you mind witnessing this please, Lieutenant … Captain?" she asked, holding out the documents to them.

"What is it?" Starbuck asked, accepting the pen and the papers.

"My resignation."

Starbuck straightened wide-eyed, and Apollo came to attention. "It's an honor," he said gravely.

"Shouldn't the Vice-President be in on this?" Tigh disrupted the solemn atmosphere.

"It's on a need-to-know basis," Adama said. "He doesn't need to know."

Tigh's raised brows indicated he very much doubted that.

"I'm not willing to take any chances, Colonel," Laura added. "I can't risk failure." She shuddered. "There's too much at stake. For humanity… and for me personally. Just tell him afterward. The paperwork covers you."

"But who's in charge in the interim?" Tigh asked pointedly.

There was an awkward silence in which the visitors looked at each other. Kara shrugged. Billy looked uncertain, Adama watched Roslin.

"It won't be for long, Colonel," she said softly.


	13. Chapter 13 - Bill and Laura

[that same night]  
In the shuttle, the stretcher was hoisted on 4 posts to create a makeshift bed. After testing its sturdiness with his foot, Bill lowered Laura on it. She stretched herself out with small guarded motions while Bill reached for the blankets that Cottle had been carrying. He spread them over her body, tucking her in.

"Are you comfortable?"

Roslin made a noncommittal sound and closed her eyes. She didn't look as if she had enough energy left for the mission.

As Bill apprehensively glanced at Cottle, Lee stepped up to him. "Starbuck has arrived at the coordinates," he informed him. "She reported a shuttle has left the Production Unit and seems to be headed for the rendezvous location. She's tailing it with the _Laura_."

"Good," Adama nodded. "Then we should go too."

"Are you ready for take-off, Madame President?" Lee asked the still form on the stretcher.

Adama saw Roslin's eyes flutter open at the mode of address. With a small twitch of her lips she let it go. "I believe we are ready, Captain Apollo," she answered.

"Not just yet," Cottle interceded, stepping forward. He bent down and held out a capsule. "This is one of the stims the pilots use. It will keep you sharp for at least three hours."

"That'll be enough," Roslin said.

Adama crossed his arms trying to shield himself for the implications of that time schedule.

"Good," the doctor continued unperturbed. "Then you should take them now." She accepted the pill and swallowed it with a bit of water Cottle held out to her.

Then Cottle showed her a small jar. "The painkillers wear off in an hour, so I brought you some extra, but go easy on them."

"Long term health repercussions?" Her left brow rose.

Cottle rolled his eyes at her, but gravity remained in his voice. "They'll make you drowsy. So go easy on them."

The doctor bent down to hand her the container, moving close, almost as if he were going to kiss her. He caught himself and abruptly straightened, casting a quick glance at the Commander.

Adama shrugged at him. _Don't stop yourself on my account._

"Good luck," Cottle said, holding out his hand to her.

"Thank you, Jack." She took it.

"I wish I could have ..."

She stopped him with her smile. "Me too." She regarded him fondly. "Goodbye, Jack."

The doctor scratched his neck self-consciously. "Farewell, Laura."

With a curt nod at the Commander, Cottle turned and left, a cigarette already between his lips.

Billy stepped forward, carrying a knapsack and looking down at her uncertainly.

"Oh, Billy." She tapped the side of her stretcher.

The boy glanced at the hovering military leader in battle fatigues and hesitated.

"Disregard him," Laura said, casting Adama a mildly exasperated look. "Come." She embraced the boy, pulling him down to her. After a few seconds he tentatively hugged her back.

Adama stepped away, out of the shuttle and out of earshot.

Lee sealed the hatch and climbed into the cockpit, leaving Adama and Roslin in the suddenly silent aft compartment. Adama found a seat on the bench along the hull, next to the stretcher. The shuttle left the _Galactica_ with hardly a tremor.

Laura's hand found his and with a sigh she relaxed against the gurney. Bill watched her, committing her features to memory. They remained quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts as they let the reality of their situation sink in.

"Bill?"

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Yes?"

"Baltar..."

Bill frowned. He hadn't expected the VP to be part of their precious final minutes.

"What about him?"

"He may be a genius, but he's not fit for the presidency."

Adama grunted his assent. The man was a self-centered unstable scientist, who, though he had a flair for PR, had no particular commitment to the survival of mankind and no special abilities to focus on practical matters, at all. He would be a disaster to consult with. But then again...Baltar might be so distracted that he wouldn't give Adama much opposition.

"Zarek may have been the better candidate after all," Laura continued.

"No."

Zarek not only was a terrorist and an unrealistic anarchistic philosopher, he would also be harder to keep in check than Baltar would be.

"Bill?" Her voice had become very quiet.

She was trying to placate him, he recognized, much the same way she'd done when she'd tried to talk him into letting Kara retrieve the arrow of Apollo. He wished she wouldn't do that.

"Yes?" He tried to keep the apprehension out of his voice.

"Lee would make a good president."

He leaned back against the hull. _Oh, Laura. Trying to rule from the grave?_

"Stop it," he demanded gruffly.

Lee's voice came over the intercom. "FTL jump in five, four..." Bill braced himself as Lee counted down further. Three jumps were scheduled to get them to the rendezvous, just in case the Cylons were able to backtrack them to the fleet.

"How long do I ... how long before we arrive?" Laura asked when they came out of the jump.

"Seventeen minutes."

Only seventeen minutes. He needed to start thinking of this as just another military operation, otherwise he'd inevitably make mistakes and endanger the mission's objective.

"We should attach the explosives now," he said looking into her eyes, "so you can get used to them and will be able to behave as if they're not there."

She made a small confirming sound, but didn't move from her stretched-out position.

Bill opened a locker to his side and pulled out a five-inch wide band of thin, small plates, connected to each other so that it could be bound around her abdomen. When she held out her hand, he offered it to her.

Her eyes widened when her arm dropped noticeably as the full weight of the explosives came to rest on it. "Heavy," she commented, "... but very small." She studied it. "Are you sure this will be enough to destroy the entire ship?"

"It is." He took it out of her hands and turned it around. "Sergeant Hadrian has a lot of experience." He wrapped it around his torso, showing her how it was going to be bound around her abdomen. "It will work best if you can wait with the detonation until you are in the center of the ship, but it will work off-center too."

In a dark corner of his mind he was glad that his military training had kicked in so he could have this conversation: instructing the woman he loved how to destroy herself.

Her eyes had left the explosives and stared at the ceiling. Her gaze turned inwards, leaving the shuttle behind. Bill sat down on the bench, the explosives in his hand, giving her a minute.

 _This is not a rookie cadet on her first mission._

Laura's lips were a small straight line and her eyes moved over the ceiling as her mind worked.

 _This is the President ... on her ultimate one._

"Second thoughts?" he asked quietly. He was ready to end the mission here and now if she wanted that.

Laura exhaled noisily. Her hand came up and moved through her hair. After a long moment, her eyes focused on him.

"This is it," she said.

He nodded. There was nothing to say.

"My life is over...," she rubbed the bridge of her nose, "...and I can't help contemplating whether I made the right choices."

"Regrets don't help," he said huskily.

"I know how you feel about navel gazing and second guessing." There was a soft smile on her face as her eyes drifted towards him. "But at this point it's difficult ... impossible ... not to evaluate."

"Don't let me stop you."

"I don't regret us ... you." Her eyes ran over his body in a brash way that warmed him despite their situation.

"Good." He hadn't thought she regretted _that_ decision.

"There are other choices I wish I had made differently, though." She pursed her lips. "But then again... Were they really choices? There's my mother, there's Adar, there's the cancer, there's the Cylon attack... Some things ... the most important things ... I couldn't have done any other way."  
She sighed and closed her eyes again. "So this is it," she stated very quietly.

Bill saw how she deliberately worked to even out her breathing and gradually became utterly still; her hands open, as if in meditation.  
He sat back on the bench, resting the back of his head against the hull, watching her through his half closed eyes. There was nothing he could offer her... not even time.

 _Thirteen minutes_.

He looked at the explosives that rested on the bench beside him.

When her hand moved in his direction he took it, warming it between his own.

"Bill?"

"Yes, Laura?"

"Pray with me," she whispered.

At first he thought he'd misunderstood; but she looked at him and held out her other hand too; the traditional opening gesture of prayer.

Bill regarded her apprehensively. The events on Kobol had changed his views on the prophecy and the prophet, not on the Gods. But there was little else for her to hang on to. She was only minutes away from attacking the very group that had offered her eternal life and sacrificing herself for her people. Faith was one of the very few things she could take with her. Faith and explosives.

When Bill reached out and took her other hand, it was because he wanted to touch her, comfort her. His thumbs caressed the back of her hands, savoring the softness of her skin, dismayed by the way her bones now lay right under the surface.

"Lords of Kobol," he spoke the traditional opening hoarsely, "hear our prayers..."

While he recalled the ancient words and enunciated them, he looked down at her resting form and listened to her shivering request for help. He hoped fervently that the Gods existed and listened to her. She could use all the support she could find.

When the last words died away, she looked up at him, more composed than before, strangely strengthened by the ritual. He was glad he had complied with her request.

"Thank you, Bill," she said softly. "Thank you. For everything."

"Thank _you_ ," he whispered.

"You don't believe in the Gods, do you?" she asked.

"I believe in you," he rasped guardedly.

She brought his hands to her lips and kissed them.

"You don't think we will meet again then, as the Scriptures say?"

He fell silent. He didn't know the answer. He hadn't known it when Zak died, nor when he thought he'd lost Lee in the Cylon attack or later Kara on that moon. He still didn't know now.

"Do you?" he asked her.

"I can only hope," she admitted softly.

He wanted to cradle her but didn't; it would shatter both their resolves.

"Let's do it," she said. "Help me up, Bill."

He gently helped her to a sitting position. She folded her legs, bit by bit, in small measured movements, until she settled in a semi-stable cross-legged position on the stretcher. Her hands clutched the frame for support.

"I guess I'd better wear it beneath these layers," she said, looking from the explosive belt to the thick robe that covered her nightclothes.

He nodded. "Wouldn't want to enlighten them too soon."

"Okay ..." she said hesitantly, plucking ineffectively at the belt of her robe, requiring all her strength to sit up.

She fell still and looked at him. "I'm going to need your help, Bill."

He nodded and placed his hands on her shoulder, holding her like that for a second, studying her before brushing her hair away and tenderly removing the clothing of her upper body, supporting her while he did. When she was stripped, he gazed at her. She had been his; she was his. His familiarity with her body hadn't stopped him from feeling weak whenever he saw her naked form and from wanting to touch her.

Checking her eyes for assent, he slowly bent forward until his lips fond the valley between her breasts. He heard her intake of breath when he kissed her and let his cheek slide against the soft mass of her breast. The smoothness against his skin and the response of her nipple to the contact constricted his chest.

"Oh, Bill."

Her hands had found their way to his hair and she pulled him close until his face pressed tightly against her chest. Bill let go of the carefully assembled restraint and allowed himself to feel it, feeling her one last time; and he almost instantly regretted it as a wave of dejection engulfed him. Within an hour, nothing of her will exist anymore.

He groaned, fighting the urge to clutch her to him.

"Bill?"

Adama straightened, moving his head up until he looked her in the eye.

"The bomb," she said.

"The explosives," he corrected her.

She raised her eyebrows at the futility of his remark, but nodded. "The explosives."

He assisted her in strapping the device around her abdomen and then carefully helped her back into her nightclothes and her robe. When they were finished, he inspected her. Nothing was visible.

 _Nine minutes._

"Are you comfortable? It's not too tight?"

Her hand moved up towards the bomb on her belly. She froze before she touched it.

"How do I set it off?" Her hand cautiously moved away from the device.

"You can touch it," he assured her. "You can lay down again if you want to."

She didn't move. "How do I set it off?" she repeated her question.

He knew he looked ill at ease. He cleared his throat and moistened his lips.

"Bill?" There was a very flat tone in her voice. "Something you want to tell me?"

 _Oh well_. Nothing of this would improve from delay.

He felt into the pocket of his fatigues. "This was not my idea," he offered.

"Okay..." She eyed him apprehensively.

From his pocket he delved up the detonator. "Not my idea," he repeated, handing it to her.

She took it, looking at the gadget and then back to him, wordlessly.

The ring he'd given her had an offensively large pink stone that was clearly not precious and most likely not even a mineral. It seemed like something that could have been part of Ellen Tigh's collection, not something Laura would normally wear, and it was nothing at all like the ring he had, at times, considered giving her.

She made a face. "Bill?" Her apprehension had been replaced by incredulity that was only partially masked by polite civility.

"It's the detonator," he pointed out.

She regarded the ring again. "It's very ugly," she informed him.

"That will hurt the Chief's feelings," he answered. "He thought it was a brilliant idea. You can easily take it with you. And if ... when ... you want to use it, you pull the stone out and turn it."

She gingerly fingered the stone. "Pull and turn?"

"Pull and turn," he confirmed.

Her fingers explored the stone.

"Preferably not right now," he said evenly.

She froze, cast a quick glance at him, tittered apologetically, suddenly a young girl, and slipped the ring on her finger evaluating its look on her hand. A tinge of distaste appeared on her face.

"Well... let's just hope it works."

"Second jump in five, four, three," Lee voice cut in.

Bill moved forward to support her through the maneuver.

When they can out of the jump, she gingerly bent forward and slowly removed his army socks from her feet. He stared from her naked feet to her face, frowning at her as she wrapped the socks in a neat ball and held them out to him.

He moved out of her reach and settled back on the bench, dismayed.

"It was a gift," he said, a twinge in his voice. The thought she'd have ice cold feet on her way to her death dented his control more than attaching the bomb had done.

"I know," she answered softly. "But it's useless to destroy them."

She swayed a little, fatigued from sitting up so long and he moved back to her to hold her up. She slid a cold arm around his neck for support.

"Take them with you," he said thickly. "Please... Be comfortable." For as long as you can.

She looked away for a second before focusing on him again. "You'll need them more than I do," she warned him quietly. "Trust me." Her hand slid forward, leaving his neck until her palm cupped his cheek. It was chilly, but he leaned in nevertheless.

He knew he would never use the socks if they held the memory of her going to her death with freezing feet because he couldn't do without his laundry. "I can't take them."

"Then let's compromise."

Adama frowned at her, too worn out to appreciate this playful reference to their old fights. He just stared at her.

"I give you mine," she explained slowly, "...you give me yours."

He looked at her, surprised. "How would that help?" he asked, but he was already untying his shoelaces. Her hand slid to his back to keep her balance.

"I would still have warm feet and you can still have mine."

He removed his socks and accepted hers. Without thinking he smelled them and then smiled at her, understanding her gift better now.  
There would be little enough left to remember her by. Most of her possessions were already distributed among the civilian population. Nothing was wasted. One day he'd come across a woman, wearing one of her suits; a woman her size. Bill just hoped she wouldn't have long red hair.

He thrust the socks in the pocket of his fatigues and gently helped her pull his warm pair on her feet, rubbing them before he pushed his naked feet back into his shoes.

"Socks aren't the only thing I have to give to you," she said while he tied his laces.

He was unsure what more she had borrowed and involuntarily drew back a bit. But she pulled the knapsack that Billy had brought close and rummaged in it.

"You know I trust you, Bill."

He thought that an ominous opening.

"You can trust me," he acknowledged. "I love you."

That stopped her search and she slowly looked up at him, taking him in. He didn't try to hide his feelings. A soft smile appeared on her face. "I know that, Bill," she acknowledged quietly. But he noticed her eyes were shadowed.

"It was in no way my intention to hurt you like this when I first asked for your company in my bed." She shook her head. "I hadn't anticipated we would end up feeling like this." She shook her head again, lost in thought.

"Neither did I," he admitted throatily. In the silence he sighed and noticed she did to. "No regrets," he told her, cupping her chin and bringing her eyes back to him

"No regrets," she echoed.

He brought her face close and kissed her. She made a small noise when she surrendered and opened her lips for him, kissing him back.

"Like I said, I trust you," she said and handed him the bag.

He took the knapsack. "What's this?" There appeared to be at least some books inside, which he thought was odd as he knew she'd only had one.

"I didn't want this to end up in my official inheritance."

He resisted the urge to look in the sack and waited for her to continue.

"I've kept a diary since I was nine."

His eyes widened. "Since you were nine years old?" he prodded, weighing the sack in his hands.

"These are just the ones since the attack."

"You wrote about us?" _About me_?

"I ended the last one this morning," She told him, unperturbed. "There's a lot about you. And about your couch and about ..." there was a hint of a grin on her face. "I loved to write about you." She glanced at him. "Even before we..."

"Really?" His brows rose. Had she used her diary to construct a policy to placate the obstinate military leader? Or had she thought about him in different ways even then? The corners of his mouth curved upwards.

She nodded, smiling licentiously in response to his grin, confirming his thoughts.

 _Gods! If these had ended up in the official legacy..._ In the off chance that there was going to be a human history after all, he knew he didn't want to end up depicted... He coughed.

"I thought about destroying them," she said.

 _No_.

"And decided to leave that decision up to you."

"Thank you. I'll take good care of them." He would treasure them, even if he wasn't sure he was going to be able to read them anytime soon.

"I wanted to give you something to remember me by."

"You will be remembered." Diaries were not necessary for that.

"Prepare for the last jump," Apollo's voice came over the intercom.

He crouched beside her stretcher, holding her up.

"Cylon vessel ahead," Lee's voice warned when they came out of the jump.

"There's one last thing," she said.

"Anything," he allowed, looking up at her.

She smiled at him and freed a hand to caress his face.

"If you see me again..." she hesitated, her hand tracing the lines on his face, "...if you see me again, please shoot me."

He drew back so brusquely that he lost his balance and fell backwards on the shuttle floor. He stared up at her, wordlessly shaking his head.

"Think, Bill!" she said sharply. "I would be a Cylon... a weapon... a weapon with a mission and with too much inside information."

But he knew, from observing Sharon, Helo and the Chief that that could become less important if they'd ever meet again.

There was this odd bit of hope in his chest that this wouldn't be the end after all; that one day there would be a shadow in the corner of his eye, a silhouette that would become this woman that he belatedly realized he loved more than he loved his own life. He didn't know how he could pull together the strength to raise a gun at her. Let alone shoot her, hurt her in any way. His instinct would be to protect, to cherish.

"It would be you, too," he objected throatily.

"I need your word on this, Commander." Suddenly she was his President again, impassively demanding obedience. "I cannot, I will not, be used as a weapon against you or against humanity."

Her permission to shoot, her desire to be shot, would probably help him to do it, but he realized that killing her duplicate wouldn't help; not effectively. "I could end up having to shoot you every week, perhaps even every..." Bill faltered. There was no limit to the amount of Laura copies the Cylons could send. He knew he could take her life every time, if he had to, but he also knew that it would ultimately destroy him; which, to all intents and purposes, would leave the fleet without a leader.

She slowly nodded, realizing it too. "I'll just have to make very sure I succeed then," she told him.

"Yes," he whispered.


	14. Chapter 14 - Number Thirteen

[Raptor]

There was a muted clang when Lee docked their shuttle to the Cylon vessel. The hatch opened and in a current of cold air, four metal models stepped onto the shuttle's deck, clogging the small space, their red eyes sweeping over their environment

Her cold hand closed around his wrist. "I've loved you, Bill Adama."

Her past tense grated at him. "I love you, Laura."

The Cylons stepped forward. Silently, they lifted the stretcher, turned themselves around and marched Roslin off the ship. She gazed at him over her shoulder, weakly raising her hand in farewell.

He shuddered and raised his hand in a grave response.

Just before she disappeared in the darkness of the hull, he thought he saw the flash of panic in her eyes, but before he could make sure, the hatch closed and the shuttle took off, taking her away.

The first FTL jump back to the _Galactica_ caught Bill standing and staring at the closed hatch Laura had been taken away through. Unprepared for the dislocation, he lost his balance and nearly fell before he could steady himself against the hull. When the jump ended, he settled back on the bench, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, depleted.

He stared at the empty spot where her stretcher had been. The mission was not over yet, but his life with Laura had ended. There'd been no way to prepare her for what came next; not for the contact with the Cylons, not for the final end of the mission. She'd have to improvise.

The palm of his hand found her knapsack on the bench beside him. His fingers followed its solid form, gently caressing it.

[Cylon shuttle]

When the shuttle lifted off, Laura took a quivering breath. This mission was not over yet; much could still go wrong. She turned her head, examining her surroundings. The compartment was empty but for herself and the four chrome models that continued to carry her stretcher, looming over her, immobile. They seemed to ignore her, but there was no way to know.

Laura little by little lowered herself on the stretcher until she rested on her back again and she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the task ahead. Even though the destruction of the Production Unit would not stop the Cylons, it would be a major setback for them, _if_ she succeeded. Her hand softly came to rest on the bomb. She let her breath escape, calmed by its presence. She'd seen what breast cancer could do in its final stages. Instant death was not the worst of her options.

[ _Galactica's_ shuttle bay]

Bill stepped onto _Galactica's_ shuttle deck and found that Saul was waiting for him, checking him out for damage and clearly not liking what he saw. Saul's eyes narrowed, but before he could act Bill shook his head, stopping him from publicly airing his concerns.

"We're expected in CIC," Tigh said instead.

Adama nodded, but kept standing where he was, clutching the knapsack with Laura's diaries and gathering his strength for the last phase of this battle.

"Come on." Tigh placed his hand on Adama's shoulder and guided him forward.

[ _Galactica's_ CIC]

The telemetry Kara was sending from the _Laura_ was projected on the tactical terminals in CIC. It showed the progress of the Cylon shuttle toward the large Production Unit.

Bill wondered how Laura was doing. After a moment, he became aware that Gaeta was standing in front of him, offering him a small black box.

"Mr. Gaeta?"

"This is the detonator, Sir."

Bill stared at the man and then at the device. Via the _Laura_ , it was connected to the explosives that Roslin was carrying.

It had been her idea.

[time: yesterday]

"Somebody will have to be able to take over if I fail to press the button, Bill. This plan _must_ succeed." She had moved her bed in Life Station to a sitting position and the gleam in her eyes left little doubt that she was quite serious about this.

"You won't fail," he said gruffly.

She tilted her head at him. "I could lose consciousness," she offered rationally.

He nodded, reluctantly agreeing that was a risk.

"And you don't _really_ want me to have a last minute change of heart, do you now?"

He stared at her, his face suddenly a mask.

"It is immortality they're offering," she reminded him.

He abruptly walked away, unwilling to accept the weapon she had just forced into his hands: the gun to shoot her in the back, if she chose to live.

[Cylon shuttle]

Laura heard a small swish not far from her and stiffened on her stretcher. A warm hand came to rest on her cold ankle. Laura's eyes snapped open and, with a strength she didn't know she still possessed, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, jerking her leg away from the touch.

At the foot of the stretcher, an evocatively beautiful, tall blonde woman was laughing outright at her reaction.

Laura's eyes widened in shock. "Miss Godfrey?" she asked, incredulous.

The woman's lips curled upward, amused.

It _was_ the Godfrey woman, Laura was sure. She had been cuddling with Baltar not a few days ago when Laura woke up in Life Station. Bill had been right all along. Shelley had been a Cylon.

 _Cuddling with Baltar …_? Shrieks of horror welled up in her mind as the pieces clicked into place.

 _Oh Gods, Baltar! I've given over the government to Baltar!_


	15. Chapter 15 - Remote control

[ _Galactica's_ CIC]

The silence in CIC was oppressive. Even though the crew didn't know the President had abdicated, or that she was present in the shuttle they were monitoring so closely, most of them reacted instinctively to the unprecedented tension that radiated from their CO and the cautious way their XO moved around him, guarding him as if he might come apart at the seams any minute.

Bill's eyes were glued to the monitor that showed Laura's progress. The detonator in his hand was a poisonous snake he wished to kill but couldn't trample just yet.

"Give me the damn thing," Tigh demanded brusquely.

"No." Without pulling his eyes away from the screen, Bill moved his hand out of Saul's reach. There was no way he would delegate this, _could_ delegate this, not even to his best friend. He turned his head and looked at Tigh. "No," he repeated, shaking his head. _But thank you for offering._ Tigh nodded silently.

"The shuttle has entered the Cylon vessel," Gaeta warned. Bill's eyes snapped back to the monitor.

"Start the clock, Mister Gaeta," Adama commanded.

"Clock is started," Gaeta confirmed. "Five minutes and counting down."

 _Five minutes_. Her window of opportunity, five minutes until he would have to intervene.

Saul's stare made Adama aware that his right hand had moved up to cover his heart in a grave gesture of respect and farewell. He didn't remove his hand, despite Tigh's look. Bill's need to salute Laura's bravery outweighed Tigh's misgivings.

Saul looked at him intently and after a short moment of hesitation he straightened his back, coming to full attention, solemnly copying Bill's gesture.

I

Bill briefly closed his eyes. _Thank you._

The CIC crew glanced uneasily at each other, unnerved by their senior officers' confounding grimness. Bill saw it, but didn't care.

"Two minutes," Gaeta reported.

The bleep on DRADIS that designated the Cylon Production Unit was extremely uninformative, but Bill kept staring at it anyway, as it was the only indication that the mission was not yet complete and that Laura Roslin was still alive.

[Cylon shuttle]

"Number Thirteen…" the Godfrey woman tasted it on her lips while she studied Laura.

"Pardon me?"

"Your number." The Cylon came closer and studied Laura unabashedly, her finger tracing Laura's jaw line. "We have great hopes for your model."

Laura swallowed. "Really?" she asked, more to keep the Cylon occupied than something else. Her hand moved slowly towards the ring.

"Ruthless, goal oriented, smart, devious." Shelley nodded in appreciation. "Leoben expects much of you."

Laura's eyes widened. Meeting Leoben after she had airlocked him was something she hoped to avoid.

She wondered what time it was. She thought she might have felt the shuttle dock, but she wasn't sure.

"One minute," Gaeta called out.

Adama slowly lowered his right hand and with an audible intake of breath moved it towards the black box. He had hoped it would not come to this, but now that the time had arrived to use the device, he was grateful that he had listened to her. Not having the option to intervene would have been even worse.

He looked down at the detonator in his hand, trying to draw comfort from the fact that he was following her explicit wishes, but his thoughts lingered on the way the explosives were wrapped around her abdomen, and on the satin softness of her skin.

 _Twenty-five …_

Images of exactly how she would be ripped apart overran his mind. He had seen too much combat to have illusions about the brutality of the destruction he was about to execute.

 _twenty-four …_

The world narrowed to the button under his fingers, and he continued counting down the seconds in his head, preparing himself to rip apart the woman he loved.

 _Twenty-three…_

Starbuck's voice rang loudly in CIC. "The Cylon Production Unit is destroyed!"

Adama's head snapped up towards the DRADIS screen, looking for confirmation. The crew roared and clapped each other on the back, but Adama blinked and swallowed, staring at the screen.

He hadn't pressed the button.

 _She did it. Of course she did it._

An odd flash of pride flared up, only to die abruptly as the awareness set in that Laura was gone now, blasted to pieces, irretrievably scattered in the vacuum of space.

He realized that up until that moment the success or failure of the mission had occupied at least a part of his mind but, now that the goal was accomplished, there was no longer a barrier to protect him from facing the reality that Laura Roslin was no longer there, and was not going to come back.

Ever.

"Bring Starbuck back," Bill heard Saul take over and call the order to Dee, but Bill's mind had disconnected from the reality of running the ship and little else registered but the fact that she was gone.

He swayed and gripped the console for balance when a sharp pain in his chest stopped him from breathing. He dropped the detonator on the tactical console and stood there, staring at the empty screen, watching, hoping against hope for the bleep to reappear, waiting for the pain to disappear.

After a very long moment, he closed his eyes and slumped, suddenly very tired.

The link was broken. The bond he had almost physically felt emanating from his solar plexus to this woman, had imploded in his chest. It was replaced by a cold chasm that slowly spread, until it reached the far ends of his being.

He had lost her. It was over.


End file.
